


Thorns

by orphan_account



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader Insert, Violence/Gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-06 18:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3143612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young person decides to buy a house nestled in the middle of dark woods, with no one but xirself and their dogs.  The only reason that xe can afford it is that it's haunted, bad enough that the last owner left before the paint had dried.  You don't believe in ghosts, and you would never pass this place up.</p><p>But there are more things then specters that haunt this house.<br/>(EDIT: On permanent hiatus. :( )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

You are (y/n (l/n), you are two years old, and the sun is wonderful. This person called ‘father’ hoists you on his shoulders and lets you reach out for the wind. This person called ‘mother’ laughs at you both while she waits on the towel, and this person called ‘auntie’ smiles and whisks you away, sneaking you a lick of ice cream. You love them all, this thing called ‘family’, and you don’t want this moment to ever end.

You are (y/n) (l/n), you are five years old, and you have just been pulled out of the smoking twist of metal that was once your parents’ car. A nice woman puts bandages on your bleeding knee and wraps you in an itchy orange blanket. Normally, you would complain at this treatment, but you are unable to keep your eyes off of your father’s leg, which is twisted at an odd angle. Somewhere, you hear a woman screaming, and it takes you a second to realize that it’s your mother’s voice.

You are (y/n) (l/n) and it has been two years since your father died. You live with your auntie now, who gives your mother hot cocoa every night and says things you can’t hear to burly men, because your mother covers your ears and shouts at her afterwards. The kids at your school don’t understand when you say you don’t have a dad anymore. Some of them make fun of you. You can’t bring yourself to care.

You are (y/n) (l/n), and it has been five years since your father died. You wish he could have been there to see you hit double-digits and hold you when you can’t sleep and mother’s gone. You’ve been getting a lot of nightmares lately, your aunt can’t do anything about them, and your mother has a hard time even seeing you while working a night job and a day job. The last present you open is a pair of knitting needles and a ball of woolly yarn.

You are (y/n) (l/n), you are twelve years old, and it has been seven years since your father died. You spend a lot of time knitting crooked scarves and lopsided hats because you can’t sleep much anymore. You were too little to remember the crash but your dreams are haunted by pictures of your father’s twisted body. The kids at school tease you, and the only time you get peace is when you cuddle with the stray dogs and cats near your aunt’s house.

You are (y/n) (l/n) and you are thirteen years old. You’re an official teenager now, but you feel like the biggest thing you’ve ever done is carry the laboring dog into your aunt’s kitchen. You ignore the screeching of a woman whose floors are now dirty and try to help the mother dog along as she howls and tiny squeaks fill the air. As each pup is born you give it a name and wipe it with a cool washcloth before setting it on the hand knitted blanket with its mother. The last one to be born is tiny and brown and fuzzy and you call it Michael because it looks like a Michael. Michael snuggles into your hand later and it brings a smile to your face.

You are (y/n) (l/n), you are fifteen years old, and you are racing between tables with your dog at your heels at a tiny restaurant your best friend’s dad operates. You don’t like working but you never intend to be poor, so better you start saving money now. You give your lopsided scarves to homeless people as you walk and the half decent ones to a lady at the farmer’s market, who gives you half the profit from them. Michael pretends to be a street dog, but really he’s your dog, collared and neutered and cleaned whenever you can get him to take a bath. When you get your first tiny paycheck from the restaurant, you spend it on two Snickers bars and a crochet hook.

You are (y/n) (l/n), you are seventeen years old, and when you come back from visiting your father’s grave with your ever present dog beside you, you knit. When you get back from school you crochet, when you have the time after dinner you read finance books, and in school you pay little attention. You learn all you need to pass, barely, and spend your effort on things that will actually help you, like math and crafts and the odd skeet shooting championship, since your aunt’s boyfriend really likes guns and refuses to let you live under his roof without knowing how to use them. Shotguns are fun and one day you want one, with laser sights and heavy metal pieces.

You are (y/n) (l/n), you are eighteen years old, and this is the second time in your life cars have taken people away from you. You rant and scream at the terrified driver and wish you had a weapon in your hands. Michael lies dead on the side of the road with his spine snapped, covered in blood, because one idiotic excuse for a human being wasn’t looking, and you have never wanted to kill another person more in your life. Eventually your mom pulls you away from the driver and you sob into her shoulder for hours. That night you don’t sleep, you crochet, and you don’t sleep again for days until your mother calls the doctor to sedate you. 

You are (y/n) (l/n), you are twenty years old, and you have tactfully rebuffed your aunt’s suggestion that you go to college and become a veterinarian. You work two jobs, save your money, and make things. You sell things, too, and they actually make a bit of money, which was more than you expected from your aunt’s grim prophecies. You also do math online for people who can’t and that works out fine for you, since you can’t craft for a living just yet. On your twenty-first birthday, your uncle gives you a shining black shotgun, your mom gives you arms full of supplies for your chosen career, and your aunt gives you the leash of a dog with a stumpy tail and bright eyes. You break down and cry before they hug you and serve chocolate cake.

You are (y/n) (l/n), you are twenty-four years old, and through careful investments and not going to college you have the opportunity to buy a creaky house on the edge of the woods. It’s mostly finished with a big backyard that leads into dark forest and it’s two minutes away from a highway. The realtor says the person who fixed it up left because it was haunted, and you conceal your scorn at her words. You’re not afraid of ‘ghosts’, and you would be a fool to pass this opportunity up. Besides, you have a gun and your dogs and your wits and you are past the point of thinking that specters or anything can scare you.

Until you find out there are more things then specters in the woods that surround you.


	2. One Simple Idea

“You think it’s haunted?” you asked, raising your eyebrows at the realtor, who was growing steadily more uncomfortable by the moment. At least, judging by how often she was adjusting her flag-stiff collar. She shifted on her pumps, making the old hardwood floors of the house’s foyer creak. A cool wind blew in from the open window.

“Well, I’ve never had anything happen to _me_ ,” she clarified, “but the previous owner left in a hurry, saying there were, um, noises and such during the night.” She looked back up at you quickly, apparently with her ‘losing interest’ radar going off.

“Of course, you know how old houses settle,” she said quickly, pulling her winning smile back onto her face. The collar settled once more into the wrong position on her neck. She ignored it this time. “I’m sure it was only in his imagination-”

“You don’t need to convince me anymore, Ms. Barry.” you interrupted softly, shifting yourself and zipping your windbreaker up. “I’ll take the house.”

Ms. Barry grinned, pulling out her clipboard and beginning to write near the top. “Great! Would four this Friday be okay for you and your cosigner, so we can take care of this?”

You frowned slightly, glancing at your watch. You’d need to get back to the hotel soon to walk Scampi and Mirabelle. “There won’t be any cosigner, ma’am. And considering I’m living in a hotel at present, I’d prefer to sign the papers and move in as soon as possible.”

Ms. Barry opened her mouth, but no words came out. After a moment, she asked, confused, “Uh...I mean no offense, but aren’t you a little young to be buying a house by yourself?”

“Yes, I am, but rest assured I’m qualified for loans, and I’ve worked for a very long time for this.” you said. You hoped there was enough, ‘I’m giving you money, don’t fuck with that’ in your voice. You wanted to get this done and relax with a bowl of Cheerios and your dogs. And maybe a crappy cable movie from the hotel selection.

Ms. Barry bit her lip for a moment, and then finally answered. “Well...I suppose I could do tomorrow...but I have to drive out two towns over for another sale that day, so it’ll be very early, around seven.”

You nodded. “I can do that. And this would be where?”

“Er, in town, at the courthouse. It’s on Rosewood Street-do you know where that is?”

 

“I’ll find it. Thank you very much, Ms. Barry. I really appreciate your help.” The calm in your voice was a little bit faked. You wanted to be done talking with this woman, done with people for at least a day, and completely done with driving all over the county to find a place you could live. You wanted coffee, your dogs, and sleep. At the moment, Ms. Barry was in the way of that.

You and Ms. Barry exchanged pleasantries before you left the house and slid back into your silver 2000 Civic. You exhaled happily as you saw Ms. Barry’s much newer, more expensive, but still ugly car peel out of the driveway. No more overly perky saleswoman. Before you left, you turned the car on and took a last look back at the house that would soon be yours.

It was old, very old, and surrounded by a big yard that led into deep pine forests. It stood three stories high and the paint had once been white, but was now worn away. The side room where there had once been a sitting room was gutted; you could see the bare, dark timbers against the fog that was creeping in toward the house. The windows were old and half of them didn’t work, one of the bedrooms had drafts that made it the same temperature as the outside at night, and there was no air conditioning or heat in some of the rooms.

But it was relatively cheap and old and it was like a house out of a fairytale or a horror movie and you loved it. There were beautiful trees and room for your dogs, and though how much it cost you guaranteed you would be there until your forties at least, you didn’t mind. Why would anyone not want to have their own house, that was far away from the idiots of the world and nestled next to beautiful woods? Who knew, maybe you would take up hiking like you had meant to do for years.

The drive back was peaceful. Ms. Barry didn’t call you and neither did your family. Not that you would have minded talking to them, but you were very tired. When you pulled up to the large Days Inn you were staying in, the parking space you had left was still open. It was just starting to get dark and you needed to walk your dogs as well as get a snack before you settled in. There would be no accidents on your watch.

When you opened the door, a very excited German shepherd and a very excited mutt jumped up at you. You laughed while you shuffled them into the room and shut the door before you were licked to death. When Scampi and Mirabelle let you up, you quickly surveyed the room. The hotel staff had gotten very upset about the dogs, but you had promised them that there would be no poop in the room. Thankfully, it appeared you didn’t have to renege on your promise.

“You guys want to take a walk while I pick up some stuff?” you asked them seriously. bending down to their level. They wagged their tails, which you took as a yes. You quickly threw on some sweats and washed your face before clipping their leashes on and heading out into the new night. The concierge gave you a funny look as you passed, but you simply gave a little wave.

You scooped poop for a while as you went around the block twice before heading to the tiny gas station store. You passed a few other people while doing so, mostly other dog walkers and people on their way home from work. Though, there was one guy with a camera strapped to his chest you avoided. He was either exhausted or stoned, you couldn’t tell which, but either way he made you nervous.

The store’s cashier didn’t like dogs, apparently.

“You can’t just bring them in here like that!” he yelled, stretched earlobes swinging back and forth as he shook his head. Scampi whined slightly, backing up next to your legs. You rolled your eyes, and you bet if dogs could Mirabelle would be rolling them as well.

“There’s no sign that says they can’t be.” you pointed out, shifting the box of Oreos you held. You were a bit nervous you were going to drop the various snack foods, but the cashier was standing in front of the checkout counter, so you couldn’t put them down.

“I-I don’t care! I don’t want any god damn dogs here, not with the psycho one around!” he spat, looking around quickly, with huge eyes. You raised an eyebrow. What kind of Cujo crap was going down here for him to be so worked up about dogs?

“Psycho dog…?” you echoed. He rolled his eyes.

“Watch the fucking news if you don’t know, I’m not a reporter.” he snapped. “Now, come on-let me ring you up already if you won’t get out of here.”

You bit your lip, holding back a sharp retort, before placing the things on the counter and pulling your wallet out. He almost dropped things twice as he bagged them; you could see the faint shaking of his hands. You had to catch your glass bottle of sweet tea.

He also vastly overcharged you, which made you lips tighten, but it wasn’t worth getting into a fight about. You walked out the door carrying your bounty, and heard a small screech before Mirabelle bounded out after you. You glanced back to see the hyperventilating cashier attacking his leg with paper towels and what hopefully wasn’t floor cleaner. You gave Mirabelle a look, which she replied to with an innocent bark.

Back at the hotel, you flopped happily onto the warm bed, with your dogs jumping up beside you. Mirabelle turned around a few times before snuggling up to you, almost kicking your Oreos off the bed. Scampi was already asleep and curled up at your feet. You had pretzels, Cheerios, sweet tea, and there was an old mystery movie marathon on the one cable network the hotel had.

There had been a news report you watched for five minutes that shed some light on the ‘psycho dog’. Apparently there had been a stray that was attacking other dogs in the area, one that resembled a German shepherd. No wonder the cashier had been so unnerved by Mirabelle. You made a mental note to watch out for it during your stay while you settled in for the night.

Hopefully, soon you would be living in your own house.


	3. Harmony, Not

You jumped out of the U-Haul with the last box in your arms, hitting the muddy ground and causing a minor mud explosion. It had been raining lightly but steadily over the past few days, so there was a fair bit of mud built up.

The house was yours, after more paperwork than you had ever had to do in your life. Your fingers were still covered in ink stains and paper cuts, and there was still a faint cramp in your hand. You were in love with the house, but you did wish that the buying process would be just a _little_ less complicated. Oh well. It was over now.

You placed the box in the foyer and stretched, trying to relax your aching muscles. Your mom, aunt, and uncle had offered to help you out, but it would be such a long drive, and dealing with their jobs would be such a pain, that you felt bad about asking them to come. Besides, it wasn’t like you had much to move; you lived by yourself, after all.

You walked back outside and shut the back of the U-Haul, before walking over to your car. You still hadn’t worked out how you were going to keep them in the yard, so for the half hour or so it took you to move your things into the foyer, you had left them in the car. You bit your lip as you thought about putting a fence up. Something that big would no doubt be expensive, and you were already planning to live on cereal and vitamins for a month or so. It would have to wait.

When you opened the car door, Scampi jumped out and immediately jumped back in, complete with muddy paws. He whimpered a little and shrank back against the closed door. Mirabelle had followed him out, but was now pressed against your legs, whining softly. You frowned.

“What’s up, guys?” you asked softly, bending down to their level. “This is our new home. There’s no need to be scared.”

You attached their leashes and reluctantly pulled them out. It wasn’t like you would leave them outside. It was too muddy and you didn’t like the look of the clouds coming your way. The dogs struggled against you the whole time, until you finally managed to get them in the foyer and shut the door, panting the whole way. They shrunk against you while you leaned against the door.

You stood up after a minute and dragged the dogs up to the bathroom, where you proceeded to hose them both off and scrub them clean of all the mud you could find. They were nervous even while you did that, stepping on your feet and splashing, and by the time you were done you looked like you had gone swimming with your clothes on. They stuck to you while you limped down stairs and poured yourself a bowl of Cheerios.

You didn’t want to risk Netflix with how soaked you were, so you ate leaning against your wicker sofa and dripped onto the floor. Mirabelle would whine every so often, and Scampi had curled up beside your slowly drying form and gone into a fitful sleep. Thunder boomed outside and rain crashed against the house. 

You ate two bowls before you went back upstairs, rinsed yourself clean and changed, and curled up in your room with a sleeping bag, a space heater, and both of your dogs. The room was still a mess; nothing was put together and your shotgun safe was on top of the dresser instead. Your clothes boxes were stacked precariously in front of the windows with some spilling out of the box you had pulled your thin pajamas out of. 

You felt like you should be able to see your breath in the air. The space heater wasn’t doing much of anything, and you could feel Mirabelle shivering too. You dragged yourself out of the sleeping bag and pulled out the afghans you’d bought at a flea market a few years ago. Their addition made Mirabelle stop moving, and you managed to fall into a fitful sleep. The pattering of the rain made its way into your dreams.

***

It was gone when you awoke. Scampi raised his head and blinked slowly when he saw the light of your flashlight. You pulled your shoes on, threw on a coat, and snapped open the locks on your safe. The comforting weight saved a bit of your fragile nerves.

Someone was in the woods outside your house. You had heard the first crack, dismissed it as an animal of some kind, and gone back to sleep. That was 3 a.m. At 3:04, you had been woken again, this time by a metallic clang. You were still concerned about how the hell your window got open, but considering you could now hear a few dim voices, that was the least of your concerns.

Scampi stayed curled up and asleep while you and Mirabelle crept down the stairs. Your phone in your pocket, already on and waiting in case you had to call for help. You had no idea whether or not there were things like bears in the woods. Obviously you weren’t going to shoot a human on sight, but you’d watched too many horror movies to blindly trust anyone out there.

You opened the back door and stepped out onto the deck. The voices abruptly ceased. Mirabelle growled, and you shifted the gun in your hands.]

“Anyone out there want to come out?” you called. “Trust me, my dog’s pissed and so am I. If you come out now I’ll think about not calling the cops.”

Nothing moved for a tense few seconds, until a tall boy stepped out of the woods. He held a red plastic cup in his hands, which he immediately dropped when he saw the gun in your hands. He jumped backward with huge eyes, immediately raising his hands. You rolled your eyes.

“Please-please don’t shoot me!” he gasped. You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not going to shoot you, dumbass.” you said, pointing the gun at the ground to show him. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

He bit his lip, looking back toward the woods. A few other teenagers stumbled out of the woods, some of them leaning on their friends’ shoulders. One girl had a huge plastic bag in her hands that you could see the shadow of bottles through. All of them looked guilty, and all of them were in various stages of drunkenness.

“We were just having some fun-” the kid began, but you cut him off.

“Jesus H. Christ, are any of you sober?” you demanded, your exasperation evident in your tone. He glanced over his friends, carefully examining each of them, before slowly shaking his head. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” you groaned, prompting Mirabelle to look at you in alarm. You mumbled a reassurance to her, pulled your phone out, and called the police.

Ten minutes later, they arrived and took each of the kids into their cars. They pulled their cooler and some more junk out of the woods as well, proving that they had been coming here for awhile. The head officer eyed you oddly when he saw the gun, and you had to do a lot of explaining and show him your license, but thankfully the kid vouched for you and there were no problems. By the time all the crap was done, the sun had turned the sky pale, so you gave up and went to go start unpacking again. Mirabelle gave the woods one last look before trotting after you into the house.

Neither of you noticed the pale shadow watching you, who bent and picked up something shiny from the ground before running off into the woods.


	4. Home/Not Home

You pushed the cushions in on your sofa once more. No matter how hard you tried, they kept coming out whenever you sat down or the dogs jumped up. You debated at this point whether or not taping the damn things down would be worth the ugliness and duct tape residue. You were leaning toward yes.

 

It had been a few days after the kids incident, and you still hadn’t figured out how your window had opened. There didn’t seem to be any problem with the latch, and you were eighty percent sure that you had latched it anyway. It was possible that it could have been opened from the outside, you guessed, but wouldn’t you or the dogs have heard it? Plus, if someone had broken in, nothing was missing and you were alive and safe. There wouldn’t have been a point.

 

You pushed the thought of someone stalking you out of your head quickly and went back to fixing the cushions. The last thing you wanted was bring back your nightmares. Your aunt and mom had wanted you to get sleeping pills, and you had tried them for a bit, but they made you sick, and when you did have nightmares, they were even worse. You kept your prescription for safety, but you tried to take them as little as possible.

 

You released the cushion and went to go check on your dogs. You’d finally managed to get them out for a bit while you fixed up the living room. Neither of them wanted to go outside even though your aunt had come over a few days ago and helped you fence in the first bit of yard until you could afford to fence everything in. They went outside as little as possible, and always protested when you took them for walks.

 

You stepped over the big patch in the linoleum in the kitchen and went out into the fenced in part. The minute you saw the swinging gate, a string of curses spewed from your mouth as you ran back in, put your shoes on, and then ran back out, following the muddy pawprints that led into the woods. You had enough sense to grab your flashlight from the kitchen table on the way out.

 

The tracks disappeared as you got to less muddy earth, so you followed the first trail you came to, calling Scampi and Mirabelle as you did so. The tight feeling in your chest grew larger and and larger by the second, and you were forcing yourself to take slow breaths as you walked.

 

“Mirabelle? Scampi?” you shouted. You held the flashlight tightly enough to turn your knuckles white. “Where are you guys?”

 

A stick cracked behind you, and you whirled around, expecting to see your dogs, but they weren’t there. In fact, nothing was there. You blinked, and opened your mouth to call out, but them you heard it again, this time in front of you. You turned again, and you still didn’t see your dogs, but you felt...something. You shifted the flashlight in your hands.

 

Something came bursting out of the woods, and you almost threw your flashlight at it before you realized it was Mirabelle. She panted and shook as she ran into your legs with enough force for you to stumble. You steadied yourself and knelt down to her level, hugging her quickly.

 

“What is it, girl?” you asked her, checking her over for injuries. She didn’t look hurt other than a scratch or two on her side...but you didn’t think you’d ever seen her this scared. You could feel her trembling and hear how fast she was breathing. And where was Scampi?

 

Mirabelle whined softly and took off running again, back into the woods. You ran after her, confused as all hell, until you banked around a corner and saw her with her nose buried in a limp form lying under a tree. You barely held in a scream when you saw who it was.

 

“Oh, Scampi….” you whispered, tears brimming in your eyes as you scooped your dog into your arms. He was still breathing, but barely, and there were deep gashes on his right side, as well as what looked like a bite mark in his left hind leg. The flashlight now clipped to your belt hit the tree as you and Mirabelle ran out of the woods and back to the house. You burst through the door and wrapped Scampi in a towel before grabbing your keys and heading out the door.

 

“Mirabelle, grab my purse.” you ordered as you opened your car and gently placed Scampi in the backseat. The German shepherd ran to obey and was back in less than thirty seconds, by which time you had already started the car and surrounded Scampi in a mess of blankets to keep him from sliding around. Mirabelle jumped into the passenger seat, you shut the door, and then peeled away from the house.

 

***

 

“Overnight?” you echoed as the doctor gave you Scampi’s status.

 

“Yes, (sir/ma’am). He needs to be stabilized, and we need to keep an eye on that leg to see if it becomes infected. If that’s the case, he’ll probably need to be here for a few days.” the doctor said, glancing at the clipboard in her arms. You bit your lip when she voiced her next question.

 

“Do you have any idea what could have attacked him?” she asked, meeting your eyes for more than a second for the first time since you got here and Scampi was rushed into emergency care.

 

“No...no I don’t. In fact, I don’t even know how that gate got open...I was sure I locked it before I let them out.” you said, trailing off at the end. You had been dangerously close to tears for the past hour. How on earth had you been so fucking _stupid_?

 

The doctor placed a hand on your shoulder in what you supposed was intended as comfort. “Don’t fret about it, (Ms./Mr.) (l/n). Everybody makes mistakes, and the important thing is that you got him here as fast as you did.”

 

Probably breaking several speed limits on the way, but you decided not to mention that as you thanked the doctor and went back out to the waiting room. Mirabelle was waiting out there, along with your aunt, who, being the woman she was, had dropped everything to come and support you. The pit of dread in your stomach was gone, but a sick feeling had replaced it. How were you going to afford this?

 

When you got out to the waiting room, your aunt jumped up and hugged you. Mirabelle also ran into your legs. You hugged your aunt tightly, biting your lip to keep from crying in the waiting room. After you let go, Mirabelle whined and butted into your leg. You reached down and scratched her behind the ears.

 

“Is he going to be okay?” your aunt asked, glancing over you worriedly. You blinked tiredly, rubbing your eyes.

 

“They don’t know yet...they gotta keep him overnight to stabilize him, and if his leg gets infected, they’ll need to keep him for a few days.” you mumbled, following your aunt out the door of the vet’s office. You leaned against the side of your car and put your head in your hands. Mirabelle rubbed her head against your leg.

 

“I don’t know how I’m going to afford this….” you moaned. The pulsing behind your eyes was getting worse by the minute, and the sick feeling was getting stronger. You would not be sleeping easy tonight.

 

Your aunt placed a hand on your shoulder. “We’ll help you pay for it if need be.” she stated, shifting the large handbag on her shoulder. Your mouth dropped open.

 

“Auntie, I can’t-”

 

“Oh yes you can, (y/n).” your aunt said firmly. “You know you can always rely on us if you need us.”

 

She hugged you one more time before getting into her car. As she started the engine, she leaned out the window despite the light rain beginning to fall.

 

“Now, get yourself home, take some medicine, and _sleep_. Don’t think I didn’t notice those dark circles, honey. Unpacking every ball of yarn you own can wait until you’re fully rested.” she chastised, shaking her finger at you. You suppressed a grin.

 

“Yes, Auntie, I will make sure to put off my extremely important packing for sleep that I can easily catch up on another night.” you said, giving up on hiding your grin. Your aunt grinned right back.

 

“Yes, yes you will.” she called behind her as she pulled out of the parking lot and set off toward home. You stood in the lot a moment longer, enjoying the rain and smiling at your aunt’s retreating car, before climbing into your own with Mirabelle. The poor girl laid her head down on the passenger seat to rest as soon as you shut the door. You scratched her ears before setting off.

 

It was about an hour to your house from the vet, so it wasn’t particularly surprising when your phone vibrated in your pocket about halfway through the trip. You pulled it out and flicked it open. Your mother was on the other end.

 

You pressed the phone between your shoulder and head as you drove down the road. “Hey, Momma.”

 

Your mother’s voice filled your ear, tired, but still comforting. _“Hello, honey. How are you holding up? Your aunt told me about Scampi...I’m praying for him.”_

 

“Thanks, Mom. I’m doing okay.” you murmured. “I think I’ll have to dig up my pills when I get home, but I’ll live. What about you?”

 

You remained on the phone with your mom for the rest of the ride. It took a bit of finagling to keep from dropping it while getting yourself and Mirabelle out of the car, but you managed. You filled her bowl with food before heading up the stairs to find your sleeping pills. When you glanced down the stairs, you saw that Mirabelle had passed out on the couch after eating only a few bites. 

 

“Pills...pills...where the fuck did you go, pills….” you mumbled to yourself as you rifled through the box of bathroom supplies you still hadn’t unpacked. You were sure you had left them in the box with your shampoo, but apparently you hadn’t.

 

 _“Did you check in your purse?”_ your mother asked.

 

“Yeah, at the vet’s...they weren’t there. Maybe I left them in another box.” you said, stepping over yet another box to reach your travel bag. You stepped on something and almost slipped, though you caught yourself on the bathroom sink. You rolled your eyes at yourself, looking down at the floor to see what you tripped on. You frowned.

 

You bent and picked up the bottle of pills on the floor. “Never mind, looks like I….” You trailed off when you got a good look at the bottle in your hand.

 

 _“(y/n)? Are you still there?”_ your mother asked, a bit of worry entering her voice.

 

You didn’t answer her for a moment, still staring at the large white tabs inside the bottle. The label had been torn off; the only trace it had even been there was that weird papery leftover on the bottle. These definitely weren’t your sleeping pills.

 

“Mom, are any of your meds missing?” you asked, turning the bottle over to see if there were any labels on the top.

 

_“No. Why would they be?”_

 

“There’s these white tablets in my bathroom, and I thought maybe they got mixed in while I was packing...that still doesn’t explain why they were on the floor.” you said. There weren’t even that many left in the bottle. If these were here, then where were your sleeping pills?

 

A thump sounded off to the side. You turned, shifting the phone to lie between your shoulder and head, and froze. Your breath stopped.

 

You had enough time to drop your phone and catch a glimpse of yellow before the person standing in the facing room tackled you. The breath was knocked out of your lungs as the person barreled into you and knocked you down, scrabbling for the pills in your hand. Your head crashed into the side of the bathtub, and you felt your skin break and blood start to drip. The world spun, and you cried out in pain.

 

The man’s white mask was the last thing you saw before everything went dark.


End file.
